


Another Voltron Sickfic

by MediocreMosquito



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fever, Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Sick Lance (Voltron), Sickfic, Will update tags as story progresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25874239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediocreMosquito/pseuds/MediocreMosquito
Summary: Lance comes down with a chest cold that quickly worsens. With Allura and Coran out of reach, the team has no medical resources to treat him.
Relationships: Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Keith & Lance (Voltron), Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Lance & Shiro (Voltron), Lance & Voltron Paladins
Comments: 45
Kudos: 259





	1. Chapter 1

Lance was having one of those days where everything went wrong. The kind of day where it feels like every voice is grating, all coffee is stale, and there are no paired socks in the entire world.

He slept in later than usual, awakened by Pidge’s pounding on the door and irritated shouting (if you’re late to training, Lance, so help me), stubbed his toe on the way to the bathroom, his hair wouldn’t cooperate no matter what he did to it, and he was sick. Miserably sick. The gross, chest cold kind of sick that woke him up numerous times in the middle of the night to cough into his pillow and chug cold water to try and ease his burning throat. He’d started to feel it the day before, and Shiro had told him to take it easy and get some rest, noticing the way he’d stifled coughs into his fist and slumped over at the table during dinner.

Well, he’d rested, and he still felt like shit. At least he wasn’t coughing anymore.

He assumed that the others would be finishing breakfast by now and made his way there, dragging his feet through the halls and into the dining room, where Hunk and Pidge were in an argument about which Pirates of the Caribbean movie was the best, while Shiro looked amused and Keith seemed to have no idea what they were talking about.

“Hey guys,” he rasped, plopping down in a seat next to Hunk, a plate of food goo untouched and waiting for him. He pushed it away, the thought of food making him want to cringe. The group’s chatter went silent as they took stock of him: all pale and slightly flushed, with dark bags under his eyes and a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“You’re shirt’s inside out,” Hunk commented to break the silence, and Lance looked down indignantly to see for himself.

“Oh, come on,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of his shirt before letting it go and clearing his throat against the ever-present urge to cough.

“Are you ok, Lance?” Shiro asked, and Lance looked up to see his face wrinkled in concern.

“Yeah, did you get any sleep at all last night? You look like the walking dead,” Pidge deadpanned, looking Lance up and down and quirking an eyebrow.

Lance rolled his eyes. “I feel fine, guys, just a little sick still.”

“You look terrible,” Keith said bluntly, and Lance scoffed, offended.

“At least I look better than you, Mullet,” he snapped and gave a harsh, barking cough that scraped the back of his throat. It wasn’t his best work, he’d admit, but he wasn’t feeling his best, so he’d let it go for now until he was on his game and could give Keith the verbal ass-kicking he deserved. Or the actual ass-kicking, depending on how irritating he was being.

“Maybe you should miss training today, just to rest up a little,” Shiro suggested kindly, trying his best not to talk down to the clearly sick boy.

Miss training? How would that make him look? It wasn’t that bad; Hunk was sick just last week and he’d still managed to train. Then again, Coran had given him some weird space medicine to make him feel better, and he didn’t have that option. Coran and Allura were gone on a diplomatic mission on a planet that did not take kindly to violence and weaponry, forcing the paladins to stay behind on the ship. The space medicine would have to wait.

His train of thought was interrupted as he lurched forward with a harsh cough, and another, until his throat was being scraped raw and his eyes were burning with tears. He felt Hunk’s warm hand on his back to steady him.

He heard Pidge’s alarmed cry asking him if he was okay, which no, he clearly wasn’t. He tried to take a breath, but his spasming diaphragm wouldn't allow for it, and he closed his eyes against the tears that were threatening to free themselves and embarrass him in front of his team. How nice of his relentless cough from last night to make a reappearance.

Finally the fit finished and he slumped forward against the table, exhausted, with eyes still closed and his face red from exertion. A cool hand was pressed against his forehead, and he opened his eyes just in time to see Shiro retract it.

“You got yourself a nice fever, buddy”, Shiro sighed, putting a firm human hand on his shoulder and squeezing it lightly. Hunk’s hand was still steady on his back, and Pidge and Keith were out of their seats and hovering behind him. Even Keith looked concerned. As if he needed his concern. As if he was weak or something.

“I’m fine,” he managed to breathe out, and Keith took it upon himself to contradict him, as if it was his job to disagree with every word Lance said.

“Yeah, you’re clearly in perfect health,” he said, earning a glare from Lance.

“It’s none of your business!” Lance snapped, triggering another cough and he closed his eyes again, swallowing against another fit.

“Alright, amigo, time to go back to bed,” Hunk announced, pulling his chair back and moving to help him up.

“Fine, fine, alright- hey, I can walk!” he squeaked in embarrassment as Hunk attempted to sling an arm over his shoulder and help him to his room.

“Alright, alright! Just trying to help.”

“We should get a read on your temperature. Fevers can be dangerous,” Pidge reasoned, and Lance chuckled, just to reassure her.

“I’m okay, really guys. I’m gonna go to my room, I’ll see everyone later.”

“I’ll be in there to check on you later, okay?” Shiro said, looking apprehensive. Lance nodded and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Lance,” Pidge said, “get some rest. You really do look like shit.”

~

Lance shut the door to his room and flopped onto his bed in a huff. He wasn’t a baby, he didn’t need to shut himself up in his room just for a little cough. Or more than a little cough. Whatever. Not that he wasn’t grateful for the rest, because he really did feel terrible, but he didn’t need to be forced into it like a little kid. And he could at least sit in on training just to watch.

Maybe he should try to get some sleep while he was here, he thought, curling up in bed and stifling a cough into the crook of his arm. He closed his eyes, hoping to feel better once he woke up.


	2. Chapter 2

Lance managed to sleep, woken once by a fit of coughing that had him cursing his own body, and again by a knock at the door. Before he could tell them to leave him to his misery, the door slid open.

Shiro walked in tentatively, carrying a tray of what looked like soup and a glass of water. “How are you feeling?”

_Terrible. Worse than earlier. Cold and miserable._

“I’m okay,” Lance said instead, coughing lightly and pushing himself up on weakened arms as Shiro placed the tray on his nightstand. “How was training?"

“It was long-range fighting. Hunk beat everyone in a landslide,” he said with a small grin, pulling up a chair next to his bed, and Lance groaned.

“How could I miss that? I’m, like, the team sharpshooter, that’s my thing! And I’d give anything to watch Hunk kick Keith’s butt. This is the worst,” He said, swallowing against his dry throat and reaching for the glass of water.

“Next time,” Shiro placated. “Hunk made soup, since you missed breakfast and lunch.”

Now upright, Lance was starting to feel a bit dizzy, and with the blanket pooling around his waist he could feel chills returning. He shivered, placing the water back down and coughing dryly. Unhappy with his current situation, he muttered “not hungry,” and then, as an afterthought, “tell Hunk I said thanks, though.”

“You should at least try to eat something. You’re never gonna feel better if you don’t eat.” 

Lance knew this, he did, but now shivering and achy, with the lingering effects of coughing up a lung making his throat burn, he just wanted to curl up and sleep again. Alone. Not that he wasn’t grateful for Shiro checking up on him, but to have his hero watching him be so sick, and gross, and weak- it was embarrassing. And uncomfortable. 

“You cold?” Shiro asked, concern present in his voice, and Lance only nodded for fear of irritating his throat into a fit. Suddenly there was a thermometer gun in front of his face, and then Shiro’s hand palming his sweaty forehead, as if to check for himself. 

“101.4. Not terrible,” Shiro reassured, and Lance only nodded again, and coughed again, and hey, was a pattern developing here? But Shiro looked concerned still, so he grabbed the bowl from the tray of what looked like tomato soup, and ate a small spoonful, then another, grateful for the warmth on his throat. Shiro was still watching him, and seemed unsure of what to say, thus the room went silent as he continued to eat. Embarrassing, and uncomfortable, and- peaceful?

He was broken from his thoughts by another fit, which started slow but grew in intensity. Lance felt Shiro take the bowl from his hands as he hacked, eyes shut in pain. He doubled over, gasping for breath, but the coughing persisted and suddenly he was choking, panicked. He heard Shiro say something to him, and it sounded urgent, but he was focused on the pounding of his heart that was suddenly louder than the world around him. 

The coughing stopped suddenly, but the panic and lack of oxygen remained, and he was left gasping for breath.

“Breathe, Lance. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. How could it possibly be okay?

_I can’t breathe._

“You’re okay, you’re okay. Deep breaths, in and out.”

He registered a hand on his back, keeping him upright, and another planted firmly on his chest. When had that happened? He tried to calm his mind, to focus on the voice, but the sound of his own wheezing panicked him further.

 _I can’t breathe_ .

His hand was pulled away from where it was clenched at his side and was rested gently on a broad chest.

“Deep breaths, see? Like this.”

He felt the rise and fall of his hand and tried to match it with his breathing, but inhaling was too difficult, and each exhale came out as more of a barking cough.

_I can’t breathe._

“You’re doing great, buddy,” the voice encouraged anyway, “you’re doing great. Keep breathing with me.”

And he did. He struggled with each puff of air, but eventually he was breathing more evenly, a soft whine in each inhale the only remainder of the fit. 

Lance sagged against Shiro by the end of it, who had gone completely silent but was rubbing his back gently. Somewhere inside his brain he registered that he should be embarrassed, but instead he was just exhausted. 

When he felt ready, he opened his eyes and pushed away from Shiro, whose face had remained calm throughout the terrifying ordeal. The metal hand stayed on his back, still supporting him.

“Sorry,” Lance half murmured, half gasped, and Shiro shook his head.

“Nothing to be sorry for. That was scary, huh?”

Lance ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah. It was.”

“Are you alright now? Do you want some water?”

Lance nodded, and Shiro placed the glass in his hand, only letting it go when he was sure Lance had a firm grip on it. Lance handed it back after a few sips, and rubbed his chest gingerly, trying to ease the ache.

“Your chest hurt?” 

Lance had barely noticed he was doing it, but that was Shiro, observant as ever.

“Yeah,” the younger boy responded, “a little”.

“Anything I can do?”

Lance looked into Shiro’s eyes and felt his chest ache in a different way. He looked concerned, and kind, and so caring. Shiro - who had faced horrors like no other, who led the group fearlessly through war, who had been through so much and stayed so strong - was worried about him. 

_I don’t deserve it._

“I’m okay. Gonna go back to sleep, I think,” Lance responded, shifting out of the older man’s hold and laying back down on his pillow.  
  
“Alright, let me know if you need anything.” Shiro responded, and Lance took that as words of parting. But as the whistle of his breaths lulled him to sleep, as exhausting took hold and the world faded away, Shiro stayed.

~

Lance awoke some time later to a suffocating heat. He coughed harshly and attempted to kick off the blankets but found he was tangled, and he thrashed like an idiot before he had the brilliant idea of sitting up and removing them with his hands. 

“That was surprisingly amusing,” chirped Pidge from her place at his bedside. She was sitting cross legged in an uncomfortable looking chair, doing something on her laptop.

“Pidge- what are you-”

“Watching you. That breathing isn’t sounding too great, so we’re all taking shifts.” She still had yet to look up from her laptop, where she was typing away like she was on some cosmic mission for the fate of the universe or something… Oh, wait.

“Shifts?” he questioned, and felt heat rise to his face as he coughed into his fist again. There was a glass of cold water on his bedside and he snatched it, pressing it against his forehead and then drinking it fervently.

“Don’t worry, you only talk in your sleep a little,” she teased, stopping her work to look him over. “How’s your chest? Any pain?”  
  
“It’s fine. What are you doing? Hacking the castle to turn my shower water cold or something?” he joked in an attempt to take the attention off himself, but the whistling of his lungs gave him away. 

“No, seriously, your chest. Any pain? Tightness?”

“I guess. Maybe a little.” Pidge’s threatening gaze had him backtracking. “Yeah, um. Both.”

“What about shortness of breath?” 

He wheezed out a bitter laugh. “What do you think?”  
  
Pidge placed her laptop on the floor and rustled around a red med bag next to her seat. She pulled out a thermometer gun and a stethoscope and Lance couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. A stethoscope? Really? It quickly turned into a round of wet coughing. Instant karma.

“Something funny, Lance?”

Once his coughing was under control, he looked up red faced and panting. “Where’d you get your medical license? Nasty Bitch university?”

It wasn’t a real insult. It wasn’t even a _good_ insult. Profanity was just part of the way Lance and Pidge interacted, a vital piece of their dynamic. He yearned for some sense of normalcy.

“Where’d you get your lungs? A taco bell bathroom?”

“Hey, my lungs are great. They’re just going through a rough patch, alright? Give them some time.”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Take your shirt off.”

“You- wait, what?” Lance spluttered.

“I need to check your lungs. Take off your shirt,” she demanded, crossing her arms.

“But you’re- Pidge!” He shrieked, as Pidge reached forward suddenly and tugged his shirt up.

“Lance, this is serious.” Pidge suddenly sobered. “This can get really bad really fast. Actually, it’s already bad.” It was like the teasing irritation suddenly disappeared, and what she had been using it to hide was right there in front of him. Fear. Pidge was scared for him. 

_Damn it, Lance._

He suddenly softened. “Hey, okay, I’ll do it. I’m sorry.”

He tugged his shirt off with some effort, relieved at the cool air, feeling less like he was suffocating. Pidge had put the tips of the stethoscope in her ears and was placing the chestpiece over his left pec, then his right, instructing him to breathe deeply. He winced at the cold metal on his fevered skin but did as he was told, and she looped around to his back.

“What are you listening to back there, Dr. House?”  
  
“Shut up,” she said, and then, as if unable to help herself, followed it with “House? Really? You know that stuff’s not medically accurate.”  
  
“I like the mystery of it. And the drama.”

“I said shut up. Now cough,” she said.

“You want me to cough? Isn’t the point of this that I stop coughing?” He joked, though he was actually afraid that if he let out the coughs he was suppressing he wouldn't be able to stop.

_“Lance”_

He let out a single cough, surprised that he was able to control it, and then another one as instructed by Pidge. She looked at him grimly.

“There’s definitely fluid in there. I could hear crackling.”  
  
“Crackling?” He said incredulously.

“Here, put your shirt back on, I’m gonna let Shiro know.”

“I’m, uh, kinda hot actually.” He said, the tips of his ears going pink. 

Pidge thrust the thermometer gun in front of his forehead, and then frowned at the reading. “Well, yeah. 101.8. Probably best you keep your shirt off.”

Lance blushed even redder. 

Pidge stood there for a second, one of the rare instances where she seemed unsure of herself, before heading for the bathroom. He heard the sound of running water, and she emerged with a wet towel. 

“Here. This should help,” she said, passing it to him, and he pressed it to his forehead and sighed gratefully, closing his eyes with relief.

When he opened them again Pidge had taken a seat next to him again.

“Weren’t you gonna go find Shiro or something?”

"Yeah. In a minute. Just- in a minute,” she repeated, looking as if there was something she needed to say but couldn’t. She was staring at him with great focus, her laptop abandoned on the ground.

“Pidge?”

“Just shut up and get better.”

Lance closed his eyes and thought of his mother, and home, and chicken noodle soup. He imagined that he was sleeping in his own bed, with his favorite blue comforter that smelled like laundry detergent and home - pretended for a moment that the weight of the universe was off his shoulders, and his only responsibility was his homework. Throughout it all, Pidge stayed.

~

When Lance woke up, he felt like he was still dreaming. He was freezing, and everything hurt. The room was silent except for the sound of his own wheezing. He moaned, blinking sleep out of his eyes and making out the blurry face of Hunk.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, “how do you feel?”

He registered that he had been shifted at some point while he was sleeping, and was now propped up against a pile of pillows. The blankets had been replaced by a single cool sheet pulled up to his waist, and there was cold water dripping down his face. He reached a hand up to inspect the object and found a damp towel was resting against his forehead. Oh, yeah, Pidge. Where did she go?

“Your fever spiked while you were sleeping,” Hunk explained after a long silence with no answer. “It was pretty scary.”

Lance coughed gently and pain erupted in his chest at that simple movement. He looked back up at Hunk, who was staring at him intently.  
  
“How do you feel?” he repeated.

“M’sick,” Lance replied with great effort. 

“Yeah, buddy, you’re sick. You’re really sick,” Hunk said, looking on the verge of tears.

“S’cold.”

Hunk bit his lip worriedly. “Means your fever’s still climbing.”

“Not good.”

“Not good. We tried to contact Allura and Coran, but they won’t answer. Their comms aren’t offline, but we’re not sure what happened. Keith was pretty adamant we go check on them, but Shiro is worried that if we go in there with our lions the people will get scared and the mission will be called off. These people may have valuable information on the galra so it’s pretty important. And we can’t put you in a pod because, you know, we’re not really sure how it’ll respond to illnesses, especially in humans. Sorry, man.”

“S’okay,” Lance offered, even though he wasn’t really listening. More coughs wracked his body, and he could feel the fluid in his lungs shifting. He hacked and choked on it, and Hunk was there, holding a trash can in front of his face and murmuring soothing words as he spit out the disgusting gunk.  
  
Hunk put the trash can down and dropped back into his chair, looking quite green.

“‘Y'okay?” Lance mumbled.

“Me? I’m, fine, Lance.” Hunk said gently, as if he were worried his words would break him. “You’re the one who’s sick.”

_Oh, yeah._

“Oh! I’m supposed to get you to drink this,” Hunk held up a glass of water, and Lance blanched, nauseous at the sight of it. 

“C’mon, man, it’s important! You gotta stay, hydrated, y’know. That’s basically rule one of being sick,” Hunk pleaded, pressing the glass of water to his lips.

“I c’n do it,” he slurred, wrapping his fingers around the glass, shakily. Hunk, with good foresight, didn’t pull away, helping him get down a few sips. 

“Can you do a little more? Please, Lance,” Hunk said, eyes swimming with concern. 

“Don’ wanna,” Lance responded, head lolling to the side and eyes closing.

“Lance, no, don’t go to sleep. C’mon, hermano, you’re really sick. If you don’t drink this we’re gonna have to move you to the med bay and put you on an IV.”

“You… you hate needles,” Lance teased weakly, and Hunk smiled earnestly.

“Exactly! Just a little more, buddy, I know you can do it.”

But Lance was already fading fast, eyes drooping closed, Hunk’s voice becoming a warbled mush. He could feel himself slipping away, reality getting further and further from his grasp, but he could still hear Hunk’s voice, still feel his hands on his arm and face. Everything disappeared. Hunk stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you liked it. Again, I always appreciate thoughts and criticism. Grammar, things you liked or didn't like, ideas for future chapters, or just whatever lol. Next chapter is gonna have my favorite, Lance and Keith (gen).  
> Anyway I'll update this soon so see you then


	3. Chapter 3

He was suffocating. Drowning in a humid swamp, lungs slimy and chest repressive. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t reach deep enough into his brain to find the words he was looking for, and whatever he was trying to say got lost in the fog. Instead he moaned.

“Lance, buddy, hey,” someone said softly, and he knew that voice. “Are you with us?”

He whined from the back of his throat, pain and confusion taking over. 

Something squeezed his hand and oh, someone was holding it. He squeezed back with as much effort as he could.

“Good, that’s good,” the voice said, and squeezed his hand again. “It’s Shiro, and Keith’s here too.”   


_ Shiro.  _

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

His eyelids felt heavy, and he opened them with great effort. Everything was blurry. There, sitting next to him, was Shiro, leaned over the bed and holding onto him. Behind him stood Keith, leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Sh’ro,” he wheezed, and Shiro smiled sadly. 

“I’m here, Lance,” he assured, “I’m here.”

“Where…” he trailed off, not quite sure of his question.

“You’re in the infirmary. You’re very sick, kiddo, but you’re going to be okay.”

_ Oh. Alright. _

Something was tickling his nose, and he reached his other hand up to inspect it, but his arm didn’t seem to be following directions and he ended up weakly slapping himself in the face.

“Don’t touch that,” Keith snapped, sounding very far away. Lance let his arm drop to his side.

“S’ry,” he mumbled. 

“There’s no need to be sorry. You didn’t do anything. Keith is just worried about you, right, Keith?” he admonished, fixing Keith with a stern look. 

“Sorry,” Keith relented.

Keith was apologizing to him?

“How come?” he questioned, and Shiro’s reassuring smile faltered for a moment.

“Shiro, he’s getting  _ worse _ ,” Keith said roughly. “We have to get Coran and Allura, now.”   
  
“Hunk and Pidge are scanning the planet and working on a way to contact them. If we go in now we’ll be risking them hurting Coran and Allura. We’re doing exactly what Lance would want us to do.”

_ Hunk. Was Hunk okay?  _

"Lance won’t be able to want anything if he’s  _ dead _ ,” Keith retaliated. 

“ _ Keith _ ,” Shiro said stiffly, his hold on Lance’s hand tightening protectively. 

Lance’s breath caught at the mention of the word, his chest seeming to get tighter. He lurched forward into a coughing fit. He heard movement around him, Shiro jumping forward to reach him, pulling him up with an arm around his back. There were voices, and it sounded like shouting, but he could barely hear them over the static. Lance tasted copper. He hacked and spit something up into a basin Shiro held in front of his face. 

Everything hurt. His muscles burned with fatigue, his chest with fluid. His throat and eyes both stung, tears dripping down his face. When the fit ended he was completely exhausted, sagging bonelessly against Shiro who set down the basin to catch him with both hands. Shiro snatched a tissue from his bedside, kindly wiping tears from his eyes and blood from the sides of his lips, rubbing a strong hand up and down his back and Lance fought to catch his breath.

“You’re okay, buddy, it’s okay. You’re okay, Lance,” Shiro soothed him, but he sounded desperate. His voice sounded warbled, like he was talking through water.    
  
When he opened his eyes, Keith was standing by the door, looking incredibly frightened and angry all at once. 

“Keith,” Lance gasped out, which only seemed to upset the boy further. 

He stood there for a moment, as if frozen. Then, with a betrayed look on his face, turned and left decidedly.

Lance sat there and tried to breathe, sat with Shiro’s warm presence and struggled through each gasping inhale and stuttering exhale. 

Shiro stayed. 

  
~

Lance struggled to open his eyes. He heard a faint beeping in the background, which grew in volume as he clawed himself to the surface.  _ Hospital,  _ his mind supplied, but that didn’t seem quite right. He felt hot, and the pressure on his chest was suffocating, as was the weight of his head on the pillow. Still, he had to see what was going on, had to shake away the fog which had settled over his brain. 

“Lance?” said a voice somewhere on his right, and he flopped his head over to the side with great effort. And there was Keith, leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. Lance groaned.

“Hunk had to carry you to the infirmary. Your oxygen saturation is down, so we had to give you a nasal cannula.”

_ What?  _ Lance reached his hand up to feel for the strange contraption on his face. 

“You’re just going to have to deal with it,” said Keith, unprompted. 

“Hunk- where-” Lance babbled, his thoughts seeming to be floating in his brain, or maybe stacked on top of each other, and he was unable to make sense of them.

“Shiro decided to look for Allura and Coran, check on the mission. He brought Hunk and Pidge, since they’re hoping to take a more technical approach rather than enacting violence. So they left me here with you,” Keith said, his voice monotone but laced with something that Lance took as disappointment.

“You can… leave if you want….” Lance wheezed out, pausing his sentences to inhale painfully. His chest felt like it was made of lead. “Don’t need a babysitter.”   
  
“You have pneumonia. I’m not leaving you here, it’s not safe, ” Keith said practically, business as usual.

Lance blanched at the thought of spending time alone with Keith, but a part of him ached at how detached Keith seemed to be from his apparent severe illness. He didn’t want the guy to dote on him or anything, but was it so much to ask that he at least pretended to care? Was this how things would always be with him?

“Shiro changed his mind… pretty quick… Did something happen?” 

“You’ve been sick for days, Lance. This is the first time you’ve been lucid in a while. If we can’t get Coran back here soon…” Keith trailed off, and the seriousness of the situation hit Lance full force. As did a round of coughing.

Before he knew it, Keith was at his side, looking very uncomfortable and out of place as he held a basin in front of Lance’s chin to catch any phlegm he might hack up, but none came. The ice pack on his forehead fell into his lap, and his vision began to grey at the edges, as the monitor beside him beeped frantically. Keith stayed completely silent throughout it all, and even after the fit subsided, like he had no idea how to deal with this situation. 

Probably because he didn’t. Growing up with no siblings, no support when sick, no one to ever care for him at his lowest moments- Lance imagined that could make a person closed off and awkward, especially in a situation like this. 

“You, uh, okay?”

He said this to Lance, who was red faced and panting, slumped back against the inclined hospital bed, shaking with fever and pain, and struggling to take in a breath. If he had the air for it, Lance would have laughed. He took pity on the poor guy and gave him a shaky thumbs up instead.

Keith seemed to accept that as an answer, and put the still clean basin back in its place on the floor next to the bed.

“Do you want some water?” Keith asked awkwardly. Lance swallowed thickly and his throat stung, so he nodded. Keith turned to pour him a glass from the pitcher, and Lance reached up a hand to grab it, but found that his hand was shaking almost violently. He raised his other hand to inspect it, taken aback by the amount of energy it took, and then clenched them both into fists in an attempt to steady them. His arms felt heavy. His whole body felt heavy, and life was so, so hard sometimes. When he looked back up, Keith was staring at him, face completely blank. 

Keith, remaining stoic, crouched down a bit and pressed the glass to Lance’s lips, who reacted by jerking his head away as if offended.

“Actually, I’m good.”

“Don’t be a  _ baby _ , Lance. You’re sick.” He chastised, but he looked hurt. 

And damn, if the guy wasn’t trying. Standing there, water in one hand, his other hand half reaching out, about to lift Lance forward so he could drink. His eyes were wide, and now the sick boy was really inspecting him, he looked nervous. Self-conscious, even, which Lance thought made sense. He wasn’t used to doing this,  _ especially _ not for someone like Lance, who he got along with like a dog and a cat. Well, his uncle had a dog and a cat, and they got along great, always cuddled up together near the fireplace. So, bad comparison. They got along like a cool, funny, attractive sharpshooter and a detached, emo samurai. They got along like an arrogant asshole and another arrogant asshole. 

“Fine,” Lance grumbled, ready to swallow his pride and just drink the damn water. 

Keith paused apprehensively before gently pulling Lance forward and pressing the glass against his lips, tipping it back slowly and letting the cool water slide down his throat. It felt like heaven, a brief respite from the heat. Keith settled him back against the pillows and he took a moment to breathe.

“Thanks,” Lance wheezed out finally, and Keith nodded, reaching into Lance’s lap to place the discarded ice pack back on his forehead. 

Lance closed his eyes and they sat in silence for a while, though the sounds of the monitor and a soft wheezing remained. Lance thought of Keith's words, on all the information he’d just been hit with, This had all come on so suddenly; it felt like yesterday he had a chest cold and was trying to act cool in front of Shiro. Now he was as vulnerable as he could ever remember being, and apparently Shiro was off on another planet. Now he was here with  _ Keith. _ The time had just passed so quickly.

Before he knew it he was drifting off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so this one was short! I've been busy lol but thanks for taking the time to read! Let me know what you think, good opinions and bad (I like to improve). Next chapter is almost done, Keith and Lance bonding :)


	4. Chapter 4

Lance was being suffocated. He couldn’t draw in a breath, and there was something covering his mouth- the galra, the galra were torturing him. He whined, the sound low in his throat, and reached for the contraption in an attempt to pull it away, but a gloved hand stopped him by the wrist.

“Lance, no, leave that on. You need that to breathe,” someone said softly, their hand still wrapped around his wrist. They knew his name? This was bad. He struggled, trying to free himself from the strangers tight hold on him, but he felt weaker than ever and he was no match.

“Lance, you idiot, you’re hurting yourself,” someone said, almost fondly, and he rolled his head to the side to see-

“K’th?” he slurred, his lips numb and his voice weak.

“It’s Keith,” came the awkward response. Well, yeah. His vision was blurry but he’d know that mullet anywhere. What was Keith doing here? What was on his face again? Lance reached his other hand up to investigate, and was stopped yet again.

“It’s an oxygen mask. Just try to relax. Shiro and the others will be back soon.”

Shiro.

His eyes stung, and a single tear rolled from eyes before they slid shut.

Lance was in a galra prison. He was chained to the wall by two steel cuffs on his wrists, and a muzzle around his nose and mouth held him upright like a tightly-strung puppet. His cell was damp and hot, and his breath was fogging in the metal contraption strapped over his face. He couldn’t breathe through it, but every time he reached for it, the cuffs around his wrists pulled him back, like some cruel galra punishment. He nearly had it each time, but the grip of his cuffs only tightened.

“Hey, stop. It’s helping you, Lance, don’t take that off. Are you with me?”

Lance was in a galra lab, staring up at the stark white ceilings and the blinding lights exposing him. There was a tight metal restraint across his chest, tight and heavy, keeping him in place and restricting his breathing. He wheezed, but his chest only tightened with each puff of air. A galra contraption was strapped onto his face, and someone was sitting beside the steel lab table, a scalpel in hand, ready to extract his teeth. Lance prepared to snatch the metal device from his face when-

“Damn it, Lance, leave it!”

Keith.

Lance whimpered, and suddenly Keith, stone cold, stubborn, rival Keith, was apologizing.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’re okay, it’s ok.”

Keith was being gentle with him. His rival, Keith. Keith.

Lance was on a foreign planet, full of volcanoes and sweltering heat. He waded through volcanic ash,  
“You’re burning up, Lance. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t cry, don’t cry. Well, you can, if you need to. It’s okay to cry, but everything is going to be fine. Can you hear me, Lance? Everything is going to be okay. We’re gonna take care of you, okay?” He hoped he lived to remember this Keith, this version of him who was gentle and

“I’m right here, see?” a firm hand tightened around his, from where he had grasped it. Keith’s eyes were glistening oddly in the light. “Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“They hurt you.”

“Nobody is hurting me. We’re here, at the castle, and we’re both safe.”

“You can’t let them… get you… I can’t protect you.”

“You don’t need to right now, okay? I’m here, and I’m going to protect you this time.” And Keith, he thought - his first lucid thought in a while - must have been very, very scared for him, because he was being soft, and gentle, and comforting, and so, so kind.  
Keith is my friend, Lance thought.

“Hurts,” he said instead.

“I know. I know it hurts.”

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Keith reassured.

And through the coughing and wheezing, the blood and tears, the fever and the chills, Keith stayed. He stayed when the team came running into the med bay, afraid that Lance had passed in their absence. He stayed when Coran found him a proper medicine for his illness, when Lance’s breathing became more even, his face more relaxed. And only when Lance began to stir, began to wake up from the deep sleep the medicine had put him in, did Keith’s courage fail him. He recalled the tenderness from the past few days, prayed that Lance was too sick and delirious to remember it, and fled from the med bay before he was caught in his vulnerability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all! I know it's short but it's how I felt like it should end. It's been a while but I decided to finish this. Hope you guys enjoyed it. If you have any requests for the next one let me know in the comments and I'll do my best!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys liked this! I'll probably update this within 24 hours. I don't write fanfics often so please criticize me and help me get better! Let me know what you guys thought lol. Also there will be a lot more focus in individual relationships in later chapters.


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